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| Next | Back | Home | Fiction | Non-Fiction | Poems | Book Excerpts | Soldier by the river Fiction by David Moore .
I
can see my house from here, the shuffling brown coat tied with
string sad eyed old man mumbled. Sitting on his damp south bank
bench staring across a tea stained Thames as if staring into his
past.
A slip in
time and space, he saw himself running and laughing with a brown
haired girl along the cobbled walkway by the Golden hind, taking
shelter under the arches, kissing passionately with not a care.
Making
vows, undying love never doubting the beat of his bursting heart. So
much love the tears would fill his eyes as he professed it,
heartfelt.
Love hurts
he had heard and never quite understood, being only an apprentice in
the art and then only in theory. The years it had taken to learn of
love or at least to start to feel it, they had taken a toll, the
gradual acceptance that time spent defending against feeling comes
to haunt you with a cloak of unimagined loneliness and deepening
sadness.
The hope
that one day he could wake feeling joy like those summer days in his
boyhood, when he laid bathed in streaming sunlight, early mornings,
birdsong and the crash of waves on a deserted shore. The loving
assurance of his father’s hand.
Knowing he
would never again feel alive in a moment of history and that no one
would ever ask.
The drift
of sleep, the drizzle of the grey morn. Rush of people going
somewhere but not yet aware they are going nowhere.
His lesson
unteachable to those unable to hear, they can only learn when ready.
We are all
just children and we all end the same. Survived only by those who
remember us.
Contact:
moore493@btinternet.com
Copyright 2007 David Moore Reviews and comments requested Posted 11/11/2007
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